


Man of The Earth

by HouseofTheBear



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cowboy!Jorah, Erotica, F/M, Other: See Story Notes, Passionate Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22753570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseofTheBear/pseuds/HouseofTheBear
Summary: Daenerys had never seen Jorah sexier than he was right then. A man of the land, of earth and all its majestic, wild beauty.A Cowboy!Jorah x Daenerys Modern AU.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55
Collections: Jorah and Daenerys' Garden of Erotic Delights





	Man of The Earth

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I can't believe how long it's been since I've posted a fic! The long drought is over (Yay!)
> 
> A word of warning: this one-shot is quite... _racy._ As you're reading, you'll see it coming (pun totally intended). If it's too much or you don't want to read it, you can skip over it.
> 
> Thank you so so much to @chryssadirewolf for the absolutely perfect moodboard below. As always, your work is amazing! And a special thank you to @clarasimone who got me back into the writing game with some gentle prodding and much-needed encouragement. Merci beaucoup!

The air felt different to Daenerys. A sense that something was coming or was about to change. She couldn't explain how she knew; she simply did. It had begun that morning, her North facing window giving her a view of the grassy expanse behind the house and the mountains in the distance. The sky above it, though, a dreary gray. She had hated days like this in the past, they brought her down, zapping her of her energy. She had used to give in, crawling back into bed and drawing the covers tight around her to doze well into the afternoon.

Not anymore.

She tossed back the fluffy comforter and bounced out of bed, eager to start her day. And that was all because of one Jorah Mormont, the owner of the ranch and surrounding property. A kind, but reserved man, he had inherited everything from his late father. A year ago, he'd placed an ad in the newspaper seeking someone with equine experience to live and work on the farm. Daenerys had jumped at the opportunity even though she would be working alone with Jorah. In need of a job and a way of escaping her verbally, and sometimes physically, abusive brother, she'd made the long drive to the ranch. The moment she shook his hand it had changed her life for the better, not to mention, simultaneously put her in very deep trouble.

The problem: Jorah was drop-dead gorgeous.

Fair-haired and blue-eyed, he was tall and leanly muscled. His voice, like rich, melted dark chocolate, sent a rush of heat along her nerves every time he said her name. He could read a cereal box and ‘riboflavin’ would suddenly be the sexiest thing she had ever heard. She had developed a crush on him so fast it made her head spin. But he seemed completely oblivious to his good looks and his effect on the opposite sex. It had become stunningly clear one afternoon about a month into her tenure. They had to travel to the next town for feed and supplies because his usual store had gone out of business. Upon entering, she had felt four sets of female eyes immediately descend on them. Well, just on Jorah. It was like one of those funhouse paints, the women's gazes following him as they walked through. And he didn’t even notice, too busy double-checking his list and adding a forgotten item to it with his pen. When they had asked for help finding something, Daenerys had almost laughed as the ladies nearly fell over themselves to be the first to offer assistance. When it came time to check out, the cashier couldn't stop herself, openly eyeing Jorah like he was a three-course prime rib dinner, complete with a decadent desert. Daenerys almost wanted to ask the cashier if she should go to aisle five and get her a bucket to catch her drool, just so she wouldn't slip and fall. She flirted brazenly, but all it succeeded in doing was making Jorah blush. Clearly, he had no idea what to do or how to respond. And when she had casually brought it up to him later, he had turned an even deeper shade of pink, ducking his head and saying that wasn’t possible, that they were _'just being nice'_. She had goggled at him, shocked at how he could have been so blind to these women's attentions, but also endeared because he clearly didn’t know just how attractive he truly was.

It only made her fall even harder for him.

Two years removed from her last relationship, a disastrous one to a hulking man who didn’t really seem to have much in common with her, Daenerys missed having someone in her life, to love and be loved just as much, or more so, in return. Secretly, she missed the physical aspect too, that deep, sensual connection one can’t achieve alone. She thought that all they needed was a catalyst, _something,_ to set things in motion.

Little did Daenerys know Mother Nature would be on her side that day, the thunderstorm of the century forecasted to hit the area. The heavy, nearly-black clouds clung the nearby mountaintops, rolling slowly, ominously, down the steep slopes. The heavens opened shortly before dinner, the rain falling in sheets so dense she could barely see through them, the boom of thunder following so close after the flash of lightning Daenerys couldn't even count to one. She had never seen a storm this bad in all her life. Her brother had told her she'd been born on a night much like this, earning her a loathsome nickname. She hated when Viserys called her by it, the way he spat the word, how it dripped with venom. _You stole mother from me, **Stormborn** ,_ he'd rage in his worst moments, hitting her across the face, splitting her lip.

But no matter how far removed she was from those horrible memories, they would occasionally haunt her dreams, ruining her peacefully sleep. And on those nights, Jorah would gently rouse her, guiding her away from their clutches. When she had arrived, she’d lived and slept in the guest quarters adjacent to the main house. It had been small, but cozy. However, one evening, a windstorm had whipped through the valley, snapping the tree outside her bedroom window in two. The larger piece had crashed through the roof, leaving a gaping hole Jorah couldn't afford to fix right then. That meant Daenerys had to move in with Jorah. His home had two spare bedrooms, smaller than his room, but both sporting gorgeous views of the mountains. She'd picked the one next door to him, at the time, only because of its convenient access to the bathroom. But later it proved advantageous in another way. The first time she experienced a terrible nightmare in his home, he'd come running, worried by her frightened cries. He'd sat with her for a while after, simply talking, steering her mind away from the terrifying images. Over time, she had others, and as their friendship grew and deepened, he had taken to holding her.

But one evening, something shifted between them. Gathered in his arms, she'd felt safe, and once the fear from her bad dream had dissipated, she had been filled with a sense of longing. Being held by a man, particularly one who smelled as good as Jorah did, who was also warm, gentle, and kind, had made her want other things. Pulling back, she had gazed into his eyes and she could have sworn he wanted the very same thing she did. Those baby blues had been so tortured, and yet, so unguarded. He revealed everything to her with one look. But when she had leaned in to kiss him, he'd flinched. He was clearly conflicted. She slipped from his lap and bid him goodnight. And the next day, it was like nothing had ever happened. But they were ‘just friends _’_ , she kept telling herself even as, deep down, she believed otherwise. It was Jorah she wasn't sure of. Of course, there had been meaningful glances, small compliments made in passing, fingers brushing against fingers that felt anything but platonic. And in those moments, she could see in his beautiful, gentle blue eyes that he was struggling with the same feelings she was burying deep down. They were both stubborn people, it would just be a matter of who would break first.

A frightened whinny brought her back to the here and now, the bay mare to her left rearing onto her hind legs, her front hooves connecting hard with the stall's half door.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she cooed, her hands rising in a calming motion. The horse appeared to listen, its head giving one finally seemingly disgusted shake.

 _I hate this weather too._ Looking down the line of stalls, she noticed one was empty. Wind was gone!

Daenerys bolted from the stables and into the downpour, the gusts lashing her face with stinging drops. She lifted her hand against it to improve her view, but it was no use. Turning right, then left, she saw nothing at first. But then, behind her, a shout filtered through to her ears.

“Daenerys!”

She whirled around, her boots squelching in the thick mud, squinting against the water running into her eyes. It was Wind, running at a full gallop her way, the massive dappled stallion closing the distance fast. But Daenerys stood her ground, raising her arms. It was a foolish move; the horse could trample her easily.

“Get out of the way!”

Mud kicked into the air, the cadence of hoofbeats finally audible over the sounds of nature. At the last second, the horse cut left, its tail whipping across Daenerys’ shoulder, stinging the flesh beneath her soaked jacket and plaid shirt. Jorah was ready, his gloved hands wrapping tight around the loose, dragging reins, booted heels digging in, the animal finally giving up its fight with one last snort.

“Easy now,” he soothed, his voice gentle and calm, reminding Daenerys of the way he spoke to her in those frightening moments between sleep and wakefulness. The white rings around the horse's eyes slowly receded, the creature allowing Jorah to lead it to shelter. Daenerys followed behind as he guided Wind through the stables and into his appointed stall. When the latch clicked home, they both breathed a sigh of relief.

Water trickled in thin rivulets down his stubbled neck and dripped from the brim of his askew hat, his clothes heavy with moisture and smeared with dirt. Daenerys had never seen Jorah sexier than he was right then. A man of the land, of earth and all its majestic, wild beauty. A twinge throbbed between her legs, nearly making her gasp. A year in his presence had finally reached a tipping point, it was now or never. Their eyes met on a crack of thunder across the dimly lit space, the flash of lightning illuminating the struggle she witnessed all too often lately waging behind those baby blues. Residual adrenaline pounded through their veins, renewed now by a desire as ancient as the storm.

Daenerys wasn't sure who made the first move, but it didn’t matter. Lips met, fiercely, hungrily, his arms hefting her up, turning until her back met the rough wood of a stable pillar. She needed that strength, needed the surety of his embrace to support her as she surrendered to the onslaught of his mouth and tongue. He gave her no quarter and she gave none back, taking what they wanted, _needed_ , from each other. They kissed as though it had happened a thousand times, long-time partners in that sensual dance. Wedged firmly between the pillar and Jorah's tall form, Daenerys ground her center against the seam of his jeans, a thick hardness behind it giving her the friction she craved, making her sodden panties slip back and forth over her aching pearl. Her surprised moan escaped from between their lips, pleasure so sweet shooting up her spine. Months of fantasizing and her own touch had never given her something _that good_ before. And she was desperate for more. Ever attentive, Jorah grasped her bottom and drew her against him in a hard rhythm, somehow knowing what she needed, making her gasp his name into the recesses of his mouth, her hands fisting in his curls, knocking his hat off in the process.

“Give me more,” she begged, nipping his earlobe.

Turning them, he laid her down amongst a pile of saddle blankets, their lips tearing apart for breath.

“Tell me to stop,” he huffed, kneeling between her legs, his fingers poised above her belt buckle, “And I will.”

“Don't,” she answered, looking into his eyes, “don’t ever stop.”

Yanking off his gloves, he hastily undid her jeans, tugging the tight, wet fabric, along with her panties, down her legs, growling at how the fabric seemed to resist him. He eventually won, pulling off her boots and tossing the garments aside while Daenerys freed his cock from the confines of his own wet denim. His hand dipped between her legs, easily finding the source of her arousal, his thick callused fingertips spreading her slick over her sensitized clit. She jerked at the hot bolt of sensation, her hips pressing down against the delicious tease.

“Please...” she whimpered, “I—”

But her words cut off on a strangled whine as he buried himself to the hilt. He grunted at the snug fit, his eyes meeting hers, his arm slipping under her bottom to lift her against his powerful thrusts as well as protect her tender skin from the rough fabric beneath them. He took her without reservation, every bit like the bear on the tapestry that hung above his fireplace. And the pace he set was solely for _her_ pleasure.

She could barely form any words of encouragement or praise, all that passed her lips were sounds as the crown of his cock stroked across a fabled place inside she could never seem to reach on her own and no other lover before him had ever found. Wide-eyed and back arched, her legs trembled against his sides, the pleasure building so perfectly, so swiftly, she didn’t even have time to cry out his name. She reached her peak gasping, her sex clenching around his still pistoning cock.

Two more full, hard thrusts, then he stilled, pulsing of his release into her still throbbing depths, his panted breaths warming her face. She thought she heard him curse, but between the weather outside, her hazy senses, and his rumbling growls, she couldn't be sure. He slipped from her, making her whimper at the loss. His thick length glistened, bobbing slightly as he moved down her body and drew her limp legs over his shoulders. It was then she realized what he intended to do.

“Jorah, you shouldn't—”

“Shouldn't what,” he asked huskily, his fingertips drifting through her folds, spreading _their_ release up and over her clit. “Pleasure you?”

She gasped, her legs spreading even as she knew she shouldn't want this. And yet, a part of her, an ancient, primal part of her wanted his mouth, wanted his tongue _right there_ , right where his fingers were currently slowly circling. It may have been taboo for him to want to taste for himself just how good he had made them feel, but she couldn't bring herself to care anymore, not with how each torturous orbit made her sex flutter in anticipation, how his eyes seemed alight with feral fire in the flash of lightning.

“Please,” she whispered, reaching out to draw his head toward her shamelessly displayed sex.

He growled, teeth bared, his tongue replacing his fingers in a long, firm swipe from her entrance to clit, tasting them. He moaned lowly, his eyelids fluttering, then did it again.

“Gods,” she breathed, her head tipping back. She was already sensitive from her last orgasm, so she knew this wasn't going to take long.

“Look at me Daenerys,” he gritted out, his eyes so intent on her own looking up from between her thighs. Then his mouth was there again, his fingers too, and she couldn't restrain herself. Lifting her hips, she pressed to his face, grinding against the flicks of his tongue. But when he drew the little bundle between his lips and began to suckle rhythmically, his fingers pumping as his cock had, she cursed softly and bucked against him, one hand seeking purchase amongst the blankets, the fingers of the other a death grip in his damp curls.

His forearm braced across her abdomen, but it was the sweetest form of restraint. His coarse denim jacket scuffed her skin, contrasting with the warm, wetness of his mouth and the stretch of his thick fingers. His beard tickled her inner thighs in the best way, his groans of enjoyment reverberating through her core. And then he found that place inside again and started stroking, as if he was coaxing her to the peak of pleasure with each curling press, each rolling suckle. A few more and she tensed, shattering, gifting him her essence and his name in a throaty cry. He worked her through with an encouraging moan, pressing a soft kiss to her when his mouth proved to be too much.

It seemed like an eternity had passed before she finally opened her eyes, her body still faintly tingling. Turning her head, she found him lying by her side, gazing down at her. There was affection, but also a hint of bashfulness and he looked away, reaching for one of the blankets to shield them from the cold.

“I've wanted you for months.” _More like forever._

The words left her before she could stop them and she winced, _Way to ruin a mood, Dany._

“So have I.”

She blinked at him. _So all those little looks, those words, those fleeting touches, they indeed meant something._ “You didn’t say anything.”

“I wasn't sure how you felt,” he said, ducking his head, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

She laughed softly, “I wasn't either.”

He drew her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay.”

“I should have asked before—,” a blush suffusing his cheeks.

“Hey,” she said, tilting his face so she could see his eyes better, “I’ve never felt so desired by a man before. Besides,” her own cheeks turning pink, “It’s not like I didn’t enjoy it.”

“That wasn't how I imagined our first time would be.”

 _So he had been thinking about it too_. Yet the way he worded it, it sounded almost...

“But I don’t regret it.” He must have noticed the flicker of hurt that flashed across her face, his gaze steady. Certain. His hand rose to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing over her lips, “Perhaps you'll give me a second chance to make it right.” That was the Jorah she knew so well, the one she had fallen in love with. Sweet, a bit shy, but most of all, a gentleman. “Starting with dinner,” he asked, his expression hopeful yet a little hesitant.

“That sounds lovely,” she smiled, turning her head to kiss his palm. “Then maybe I can show you how _I_ wanted our first time to be.”

He flashed her one of his rare lopsided grins. “It's a deal.”


End file.
